To understand how Loki ended up in his current predicament—standing in a cosmic junkyard being greeted by an old man in a ridiculous costume—we need to rewind to a short time earlier.
Back when Loki had first arrived at the Time Variance Authority, when the institution's true nature and purpose were still revealing themselves through careful observation and stolen glances at restricted files.
That was when he'd witnessed everything recorded on the original Sacred Timeline—the complete, unedited chronicle of what his life was supposed to be across countless iterations and variations.
The experience had been profoundly disturbing in ways Loki was still processing.
His fate—pitiful, tragic, endlessly cyclical—had been maliciously arranged from the very beginning by forces that viewed individuals as narrative components rather than people with agency and autonomy.
It was as if some cosmic author or sadistic observer wanted to see him fail repeatedly. Wanted to watch him lose again and again, to witness him wallowing in pain and struggle, deriving entertainment from his suffering like spectators at a gladiatorial arena.
The pattern was sickeningly consistent across timelines:
Every iteration showed him breaking with Thor over succession rights and the throne of Asgard. He would kill his beloved mother Frigga through actions he couldn't take back, then experience smug satisfaction that would later curdle into devastating guilt. He would neglect and psychologically abuse his father Odin until the All-Father's death, behavior he'd rationalize as justified revenge until the consequences became inescapable.
Loki always ended up on a path that contradicted and opposed his brother—the person he loved most in all the realms. Like two people desperately in love but forever kept apart by circumstances neither could fully control, doomed to hurt each other despite genuine affection underneath the conflict.
He would always be jealous, always convinced of his own cleverness and superiority. He'd hurt the few people who genuinely loved him, then feel heartbroken and regretful afterward. He'd lament his mistakes with seemingly sincere emotion, vow to change his ways...
And then repeat the exact same destructive patterns in the next timeline, the next iteration, the next version of events.
It seemed as though he never learned from past mistakes, as if thousands of years of accumulated wisdom and experience were worth less than a child's capacity for growth and adaptation.
But now Loki understood the truth behind that apparent character flaw.
None of this had been inevitable. He wasn't born fundamentally corrupted or destined for villainy. His destructive patterns weren't intrinsic character defects but rather the result of deliberate manipulation—someone or something had been torturing him through temporal control, forcing him into tragic cycles for purposes he didn't yet fully comprehend.
And I must change all of this, Loki had resolved, standing in the TVA archives with stolen knowledge burning in his mind. Not only to protect my current timeline—the life I've built with Ben Parker and Thor and everyone else who matters—but for ALL Lokis across infinite realities.
For you. For me. For all of us.
The realization had crystallized into purpose with startling clarity. Perhaps this was his true calling, the reason his particular timeline had diverged so dramatically from the prescribed path.
As the happiest, most successful Loki variant across all known universes—someone who'd found family, purpose, and genuine belonging—he had a responsibility to guide other versions of himself toward better outcomes.
And that starts with taking control of the Time Variance Authority itself, Loki had decided. Seizing the machinery of fate and using it to free every Loki from their prescribed suffering.
Which brought him to his current situation, standing in cosmic refuse after a plan that had seemed brilliant in conception but had failed spectacularly in execution...
Just like the Loki from the original timeline whose file he'd reviewed, Loki had been officially assigned to hunt down and capture a "time criminal"—a dangerous variant disrupting the Sacred Timeline's integrity.
The criminal's identity? Another version of himself, naturally. The TVA seemed to find it amusing to force Lokis to hunt each other.
But having committed himself to changing the fate of all Lokis across existence, he obviously couldn't actually arrest another variant who was merely trying to escape the same tragic destiny he'd avoided through fortunate circumstances.
The moral calculation was straightforward: helping himself was helping every version of himself, which meant helping everyone trapped in cycles of predetermined suffering.
So although they were technically different individuals from separate timelines, Loki and the variant he was supposed to capture—a female version called Sylvie—had independently chosen the same rebellious path.
Both refused to participate in the system that had tormented them. Both sought to dismantle the machinery of fate rather than serve it.
The difference in their outcomes came down to simple bad luck and timing.
Sylvie had been captured during her very first attempt to infiltrate and attack the Time Bureau's infrastructure. She'd barely begun implementing her plan when she ran directly into Albedo, who happened to be loitering around the TVA facilities between assignments.
Albedo—whose combat capabilities and tactical intelligence far exceeded what Sylvie's preparations had accounted for—had dealt with her easily, almost contemptuously. Within minutes she'd been subdued and imprisoned in the TVA's holding cells, her rebellion ended before it properly began.
Loki had attempted a rescue operation, motivated partly by genuine compassion for another version of himself and partly by recognition that Sylvie's knowledge and capabilities could prove invaluable to their shared cause.
But he'd discovered too late that his magic—normally so reliable, so fundamental to his identity—simply didn't function properly within the TVA's reality-controlled environment.
The dampening fields and temporal manipulation systems that maintained the facility's existence outside normal causality also neutralized most supernatural abilities, rendering Loki far less capable than his confidence had assumed.
He'd been discovered before completing even preliminary infiltration, much less actually reaching Sylvie's cell.
The TVA agents had pruned him immediately, their temporal disruptors sending him directly back to nonexistence—or more accurately, to the Void at the end of time where all pruned entities and erased timelines accumulated.
And so this current scene had unfolded with depressing inevitability.
The old Loki—hunched and weathered by what must have been centuries or millennia of survival in this cosmic dumping ground—looked like someone nature had been steadily eroding for longer than civilizations typically lasted.
His posture was bent, his movements careful and trembling in ways that suggested joints had worn past their designed tolerances. The theatrical green costume he wore seemed designed to mock rather than enhance his dignity.
He looks older and more decrepit than Odin ever did, Loki thought with uncomfortable recognition. Is this what awaits all Lokis who survive long enough? This pathetic decay?
The comparison to his adoptive father was unavoidable and deeply unsettling. Even at his most weakened, Odin had maintained presence and authority. This variant looked like a strong breeze might shatter him.
"It seems our new friend already knows I'll guide him toward success," Old Loki observed with a knowing smile, his voice surprisingly strong despite his frail appearance. "But I'm afraid you'll be disappointed—we can't actually leave this place. The Void is a prison without walls, escape without destination."
When he said "we," more Loki variants emerged from hiding places among the cosmic debris.
The group assembled around Loki in a semicircle that would have been intimidating if the individuals involved weren't so obviously resigned to permanent exile.
Standing in the middle was a young boy—perhaps ten or eleven years old—with an expression of arrogant authority that seemed incongruous on such a youthful face. Old Loki positioned himself to the boy's left, deferential despite the age difference.
To the right stood a tall, muscular Black man with a dignified bearing, holding a golden hammer that caught nonexistent light in ways that suggested it was more than decorative.
The arrangement gave Loki an immediately uneasy feeling, as if he'd stumbled into a support group or cult meeting rather than an alliance of survivors.
"Please don't tell me you're all Loki variants," he said, already knowing the answer but hoping against reason he might be wrong.
"Obviously," the young boy replied, turning slightly to reveal a crown with short decorative horns positioned behind his ears—the universal symbol of Loki's royal heritage, sized appropriately for a child. "Did you expect to find heroes in the cosmic garbage dump?"
"So HE is too?!" Loki pointed at the Black man with obvious incredulity and poorly concealed discomfort.
His voice rose with indignation that bordered on offensive. "Look, I'm already stretching credibility as a Frost Giant who presents as Asgardian! And if we're discussing skin color variations, mine should technically be blue under the right circumstances!"
He gestured emphatically at the Black Loki. "What does THIS variation even mean? What possible genetic or magical circumstances would produce—"
"Don't be racist, buddy," Black Loki interrupted mildly, seemingly unbothered by the outburst. He patted his own chest with casual confidence before reaching down and lifting something that had been hidden at their feet.
"At least I still maintain basically human appearance," Black Loki continued, hoisting up a small crocodile that wore tiny golden horns attached to its reptilian head. "Now THIS one—Crocodile Loki—is the real heavyweight champion of improbable variations."
Loki stared at the crocodile, which stared back with disturbingly intelligent eyes that suggested far more awareness than any normal reptile should possess.
He genuinely hadn't noticed there was another variant at ground level until it had been literally lifted for inspection.
"I..." Loki struggled to find words. "How does a crocodile even qualify as Loki? What kind of magical accident or genetic catastrophe would—"
"The melanin situation has a perfectly reasonable explanation," Old Loki interjected, his tone suggesting he'd given this speech before. "Exposure to certain mystical energies during developmental periods can cause permanent pigmentation changes. Definitely nothing to do with Laufey's wife potentially having affairs with Dark Elves or any other species."
He nodded sagely, as if this clarified everything. "And if that genetic variation hypothesis WERE accurate, it would explain why this particular Loki was born physically weaker than typical Frost Giant standards. Would make perfect sense why Laufey chose to abandon him rather than raise him as heir."
"Alright, enough speculation about my genetics," Black Loki said firmly. "Take our new friend back to base before Alioth gets curious about the fresh arrival."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Old Loki bowed slightly toward the young boy, then gestured for everyone to proceed.
He led the group of Loki variants toward a distant hill, his movements slow but steady despite his apparent frailty.
"Ask any questions or doubts you have during the journey," Old Loki offered. "Better to clarify things now than discover you've misunderstood something critical when Alioth shows up hungry."
The entire scene struck Loki as somewhat comical despite the underlying tragedy.
He'd never imagined encountering a situation where an elderly variant, a Black variant, and a literal crocodile would all obediently defer to a child's authority without apparent resentment or power struggles.
"Why do you call him king?" Loki asked as they walked, genuinely curious about the power dynamics. "What accomplishment earned that title in a place where everyone's already been pruned and erased?"
Old Loki looked at him with mild surprise, his weathered features showing confusion at the question's focus.
"I thought you'd ask where this place is and how to escape," he admitted. "Those are usually the first concerns for new arrivals."
"I already know how to leave," Loki replied with confidence that wasn't entirely feigned.
They'd climbed high enough on the hill now that he could see into the distance, could make out the massive entity lurking within the perpetual storm clouds that dominated the Void's sky.
"Alioth," Loki identified the creature with certainty. "The trans-temporal entity that consumes matter and energy, that serves as the Void's primary defense mechanism against escape attempts. Defeat it, and we can leave this place. Simple enough in theory."
"You know quite a lot for someone just arriving," Old Loki observed, his tone mixing respect with pessimism. "But unfortunately, knowledge doesn't equal capability. No one has ever managed to kill that thing."
His voice carried the resignation of someone who'd personally witnessed countless failed attempts. "That's just how we Lokis are—clever enough to understand exactly what needs to be done, but lacking the raw power to actually accomplish it. We can only play little tricks, create illusions, survive through cunning rather than strength."
He gestured vaguely at their surroundings. "But at least Alioth can't permanently kill us either, because Lokis are exceptionally good at surviving in places exactly like this. We're cockroaches with delusions of grandeur—hard to truly eliminate even when everything else has been destroyed."
Loki remained noncommittal about the defeatist assessment, instead returning to his original question.
"So now will you explain why you call this child 'king'?" he pressed. "What possible achievement could warrant that title?"
The young boy stopped walking and turned around, his expression mixing arrogance with something darker—pain that he was clearly trying to hide behind aristocratic disdain.
"Because I killed Thor," Kid Loki stated flatly, as if discussing something as mundane as yesterday's weather.
Oh.
The revelation hit Loki like a physical blow, forcing him to completely reassess the boy standing before him.
He'd initially looked down on a child serving as leader, had assumed it was some kind of democracy-of-the-desperate situation where even kids got voting rights. But now, learning the true nature of Kid Loki's achievement...
"You are indeed extraordinary," Loki said slowly, his voice mixing genuine respect with complicated emotions he couldn't fully name. "I'm rather curious about what it actually feels like to kill Thor. I've imagined it countless times across countless scenarios, but never actually..."
He trailed off, recognizing the dangerous territory those thoughts represented.
Kid Loki's face remained carefully neutral, showing no obvious sadness or regret. But Loki could read the subtle tells—the way his shoulders tensed, how his hands curled into fists, the micro-expressions that flashed before being suppressed.
He's not feeling well about it at all, Loki realized. Probably the worst moment of his entire existence, and now it defines him forever.
Deciding to show mercy by changing the subject, Loki asked: "So what exactly do you want from me? Why rescue new arrivals instead of just letting Alioth consume them?"
"Mutual assistance," Old Loki explained simply. "Self-preservation through cooperation."
"We are all Loki," he continued, his tone suggesting this should be self-evident. "And despite our cleverness and survival instincts, no one can truly survive alone in this vast junkyard of pruned timelines and erased possibilities. We help each other because the alternative is isolation and eventual consumption."
That's it? Loki thought with disappointment. Survival for survival's sake? No grand ambitions or escape plans?
They crossed several more hills, navigating through landscapes of cosmic refuse—discarded timelines and erased realities piled like garbage—before finally locating a hidden cellar entrance.
The underground bunker served as the Loki variants' base of operations. Despite being constructed from salvaged materials and stolen technology, it was surprisingly well-equipped—like a post-apocalyptic refuge designed by someone with both paranoia and practical engineering knowledge.
"So you're just going to play house down here?" Loki challenged, his tone mixing disappointment with contempt. "Acting out kingship in a cellar while pretending it matters? I thought you'd have some kind of grand ambition, some plan for revenge or escape or SOMETHING."
"Those edges get worn smooth eventually," Old Loki replied with weary acceptance.
Black Loki found a comfortable chair and settled into it, his posture radiating the confidence of someone who'd made peace with failure.
"I defeated Captain America in single combat," he said, almost boasting despite the context. "Claimed all six Infinity Stones for myself, became the most powerful being in my timeline. Had cosmic authority at my fingertips."
He shrugged. "And so what? Still ended up here. Still just another pruned Loki in the cosmic trash heap."
"I've been separated from Asgard for thousands of years," Old Loki added quietly. "Wandering from place to place, reality to reality, always surviving but never truly living. Eventually you realize that's just what we are."
His expression carried resignation that bordered on peace. "Loki was born to be the god of exile. God of mischief, god of lies, god of always being cast out and discarded. This is our destiny—not glory or redemption, but eternal survival in the margins of existence."
The words hung in the air like a curse none of them could quite refute.
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